


Ort is a funny word (it means scraps from a meal)

by tgecko



Series: The OT3 borderline crackfic that no one asked for [3]
Category: Deadpool (2016), Deadpool (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:53:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7492749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tgecko/pseuds/tgecko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bits and bobs that don't fit in with the currently worked story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There is a time and a place for angst, and waking Darcy up in the middle of the night is not that time or place.

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter takes place after the island vacation, when there is a firmly established relationship between the three of them.

Darcy was woken up in the middle of the night by a wave of cold air hitting her back. She barely had enough time to react; her body was engulfed with a burning heat even as a shiver wracked her from head to toe. The identity of her midnight cuddler was revealed by the slight smell of ozone and metal as Bucky buried his nose in her hair and took a deep breath. Weird how cheap Suave shampoo could have such a visceral reaction in someone with such a tough exterior.

She patted the arm wrapped around her waist as it pulls her into a firm embrace. “Rough night?”

There was a heartbeat of a moment before he sighed, his breath skimming along the top of her scalp. “There were kids.” The only detail he felt comfortable revealing in the dark. She twisted her fingers through those of the hand holding her close, gripping them tightly in a silent attempt at comfort.

Darcy had almost returned to sleep (she wasn’t sure about Bucky’s state of consciousness) when cold air once again flooded the warm cocoon of the blankets. This time it was Wade, who wrapped long arms around them both while burying his face in the cleavage revealed by her pajamas. For him, she stretched her hand over his scalp, massaging the rough skin with her fingertips. “You okay?” Her question was quiet, but it hovered in the darkness.

“I had to skip out on a job.” Wade’s tone was petulant, compared to the quiet sobriety from Bucky.

Darcy snorted. “What a travesty.” The harshness of her dry tone was cut by the gentle brush of her fingertips on his skin. 

Wade jerked upright, hovering over his bedpartners. Darcy could barely make out his features in the scant light of her bedroom, but she could feel the earnestness in the lines of his body. No doubt Bucky had a better view of Wade’s expression thanks to his Super-Soldier-Serum-of-Awesomeness. “You have no idea. There I was, working for the money. I work hard for the money.”

“Hard for the money?” Darcy murmured, reaching up to wrap her arms around Wade’s shoulders and draw him back down into their cozy cocoon.

“So hard for it, honey,” Wade mumbled, grinning against her skin.

She knew that there was something that tied Bucky and Wade together that she could never understand. Some deep well of experience that could easily turn into angst and self-hatred if they were drawn into it. That played a large part into why she engaged with Wade, let him draw her into these meaningless exchanges. The silly, meaningless repartee could draw either one of them out of whatever vortex of angst they were currently circling.

“What happened?”

“I ran into the Black Widow.” 

Darcy silently cursed to herself as Bucky tensed behind her. “Oh yeah? So you guys were competing for the same job?”

Wade shook his head at her cleavage. “No, she was working for the other side. I went back to the guy who hired me and told him that I had to quit because the other guy worked with my girlfriend and boyfriend.” He huffed out a sigh that blew hot air over her nipples and she failed utterly at repressing her shiver. “Let me tell you, warlords do not look kindly on personal affairs influencing their employees.”

“You poor thing,” she murmured, stroking his scalp. Behind her, she felt Bucky relax incrementally.

Wade arched his neck to meet her eyes in the darkness. “You have no idea! There were strong objections, and long story short, I pretty much did the Bee-Dublyu’s work for her, without the benefit of a paycheck. Incidentally, I may not be able to make rent this month.”

Bucky snorted. “You never pay rent anyway,” he muttered as he covered Darcy’s hand on Wade’s scalp with his larger one. “Now shush.” Angst successfully averted, Darcy could feel tension (she hadn’t even known was there) drain out of her. Together, she and Bucky stroked their hands over Wade’s scalp, the gentle caresses lulling them all to sleep.


	2. Soulmarks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it might look like if Darcy, Bucky, and Wade lived in a setting with soulmarks.

Darcy’s soulmark is the faded shine of an old scar, a childhood friend who died in a tragic accident (though when is it ever not a tragedy?).  She doesn’t really remember much about her; she remembers the tightly wound curls (“can I touch your hair?” were Darcy’s words in charcoal on terra cotta skin, and when she knew better, understood more, she would lie awake at night kicking herself), she remembers freckles and the smell of mint. 

Darcy used to have her picture up on the wall, but the pain would come back any time anyone new asked about her.  Until one day it didn’t hurt any more, but at the same time Darcy couldn’t remember her face unless she was looking at the picture.

Eventually Darcy realized she was mourning the ‘could-have-beens’ of a life with someone she’d never known; imagining what life would be like for her if her soulmate had lived to adulthood, if they had gotten married, maybe bought a house, had a family.  But would she have applied for the internship with Jane?  Would she want the life she had now, or would she have been happy living in the blissful ignorance that the rest of the world had, outside this sphere of superheros.

Darcy thinks she would have been happy, but that doesn’t mean she’s not happy now.

\---..---

Bucky went under for the first time without a soulmark.  He thinks it’s most likely that if it had showed up, it would have been on That Arm.  He’s glad he never woke up with a mark (that he can remember).  At first it wouldn’t have been safe, and now… 

Every so often the thought will cross his mind that his soulmate just hasn’t been born yet.  He supposes it wouldn’t be completely terrible if it does show up one day.  A lot can happen to a relationship in twenty years, maybe by the time his soulmate is born and comes of age, he’ll be in a position to get to know them better.

But he doesn’t need a soulmate now.  Nothing about now needs to change. 

\---..---

Wade wakes up with a different soulmark each day.  Sometimes it changes midday.  Sometimes it’s a smudged blur, like someone rubbed the words while the ink was still wet.  Sometimes it’s a black blob, as though it was many words and many soul marks laid over top of each other. 

When he’s most firmly entrenched in this story, that’s when his skin is free of marks.  He’s a blank in this setting, in a way that makes him even more of a match for Bucky and Darcy than if he did have their words.  It makes sense, and things that make sense are always welcome in the cacophony of his thoughts.

Tomorrow he’ll wake up in a different story, so he enjoys what he has now while he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adore [amusewithaview](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amusewithaview)'s soulmark AU with the mark being the first words spoken by the soulmate, as well as many of the fics which sprung from that premise. So here's another one.


	3. Meet Cute(s) 1/3 (Katanas are terrible utensiles for making fruit salad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of three Meet-Cutes, Bucky and Wade meet.

Given the chance, Barnes would rather not attend any of the Avengers parties.  It was hard to forget that he had tried to kill the majority of the attendees, some of them more than once.  The coping mechanism for most people seemed to be to pretend that Barnes’ head wasn’t a minefield, but some (Stark, Wilson, Romanov) apparently thought that repeatedly bringing up the sieve-like quality of his grey matter was an appropriate coping mechanism.

This shit was why he was still in therapy.

(Well.  He’d be in therapy regardless.)

But Steve pulled him into these get-togethers, and he resigned himself to sitting against the wall with a beer in hand, watching everyone else mingle and completely failing to improve working relations with anyone.

Barnes wasn’t sure about the reason for this particular get-together.  Something about Stark finding another reason to congratulate himself and swanning around the penthouse being generally insufferable. 

Until he glanced over to find Stark and Steve having a very tense stand-off with a red and black suited man covered in weapons.  (He hadn’t seen the other man come in.  That many weapons would be hard to miss.)  Unlike nearly everyone else around him, however, the stranger seemed completely at ease.  Barnes rose from his quiet spot in the corner to lean on the kitchen island, a location close enough for him to hear the conversation.

“Seriously, how did you get in?  Did you bribe someone?  Kill someone?  I put a lot of effort into vetting my security team, I will be very upset if I have to face a crying widow and fatherless kids because some trigger-happy mercenary decided he just had to knock the ‘crash an Avengers party’ off his bucket list.  I would be so upset that I might make sure that mercenary is incapable of making any further progress on his bucket list.”

(Take a breath, Stark.)

“Geez, that’s kind of sexist, don’t you think?”  The stranger’s voice was gravely and laced with a familiar sense of humor (the kind that usually he heard from a curly-haired tiny dynamo).  “Why does it have to be a widow?  Why are the orphans fatherless and not motherless?  Are you saying you only employ the het dudes to be on your security team?” 

Steve sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.  “Did you kill anyone to get into the tower, Deadpool?”

“I swear on the grave of my sainted mother who left before I was born, that no one, het security dudes or otherwise, were harmed in the crashing of this party.”  The stranger raised a hand to his heart, and Barnes found himself smiling slightly at the other man’s earnestness.  (That, and Stark’s pout.)  “I was in town and wanted to hang out with my favorite team of crime-fighting superheroes.”

Barnes picked an apple from the basket of fruit next to him, idly rubbing his thumb over the deep red skin.  Besides the obvious Captain America hero-worship, the stranger was pretty entertaining.  Few other people were able to give Stark a run for his money and it was obvious that Stark’s inability to figure out how the stranger was entering his tower was driving the billionaire utterly mad.  (That on its own was enough to put a smile on Barnes’ face.) 

Looking back on it afterwards, he wasn’t really sure what exactly Stark had said.  Whatever it was, it had been the typical snide and casually callous remark that he would normally shrug off.  But this time it had been aimed at the stranger instead of Barnes, and before he knew it, he was whipping the apple in his hand at Stark’s head.

The stranger hadn’t even acknowledged Barnes’ presence but as soon as the apple left his hand, steel flashed and Steve and Stark were dodging halves of shiny red apple.  Stark (being Stark) turned a simple dodge into a fancy spinning move that had him coming up with a gauntleted hand aimed at the stranger (and Barnes by association, which he did not appreciate), repulsor humming.  Steve put a hand on Stark’s shoulder, holding him back. 

The stranger faced Barnes, the cloth of his mask stretched over a clear smirk.  “Well aren’t you a tall drink of deliciousness?”  He slid the katana back into the sheathe on his back while the white eyepieces of his mask somehow managed to clearly convey a wink.  “Pitch a few more my way, we’ll make a fruit salad.”  Barnes felt his lips twitch begrudgingly into a return smile. 

“No.”  Stark stepped in front of the stranger, slashing his gauntleted hand through the air.  “No awkward flirting with sharp objects in my tower.  I’m laying down the law right now.  Go exchange googly eyes over a, a, a, C-villain team or something.  This area is for grown-up conversations only.”

“Coulda fooled me.”  Barnes pushed up off the kitchen island, shoving his hands in his pockets.  He wanted to keep talking to the new guy to see if together they could push Stark into an apoplectic fit, but Steve was getting a pinched look on his face that meant he was extremely uncomfortable with the situation and really wanted the stranger to leave sooner rather than later.  So instead he waved a loose salute at the stranger and turned away-

To find the rest of the party had fallen utterly silent and was staring at them.  (Shit.)  Ears burning, he hunched in on himself and slunk away, avoiding eye contact with everyone and concentrating on getting the hell out of Dodge.


	4. Meet Cute (2/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Darcy meet. Chronologically, this is the first meet-cute for the trio.

The first time Bucky met Darcy, he totally saved her life. 

That might be an exaggeration.  He totally saved her from biffing it and falling down the stairs.  Her physical body would have survived with a few bumps and bruises, but her pride would have been deader than a doornail. 

It happened like this: Darcy was in the middle of running an errand for Jane when she encountered some poor soul lost in the literal oubliette that was the Accounting Department.  They weren’t even on the right floor!  So out of the goodness of her heart, she volunteered to free them from the oubliette and totally not lead them to the Bog of Eternal Stench. (But if they crossed paths with Goblin King Bowie in those tight pants, they were on their own while Darcy went to Ziggy that Stardust.) 

Fantasies aside, the poor lost soul was only off by one floor, so Darcy headed for the rarely-used stairs instead of the elevators.  Whatever, it wasn’t like walking up a single flight of stairs was going to kill her, right?  Except she had turned her head to speak to the other person and instead had come face-to-face with the grim-faced shadow that had taken to looming behind Steve these past few weeks following his mental reconditioning in Wakanda.  She had yelped in surprise, taking a step back only for her foot to meet nothing but air.  Then she was toppling backwards, arms windmilling like crazy to regain a balance long since lost.  She squeezed her eyes shut, tensing her body as she braced for impact with the stairs.  This was going to hurt like a mother.  Only-

Instead of bouncing down the stairs ass over teakettle, something wrapped around her waist, pulling her free from the devious whims of gravity and holding her tightly against a body that was either ridiculously built or men’s clothing nowadays was as padded as an insecure teenager’s bra.  One thick thigh was wedged between hers, and his grip had her nearly on her tippy-toes to try and stay balanced.

Given that her rescuer was likely Steve’s _Grumpasaurus Rex_ counterpart, she was going to go with ridiculously built.

“You all right there, ma’am?”  A scratchy voice asked, and _omigods_ that was totally unfair.  She looked up into his curious gaze, and of course _G. Rex_ was even more stunning in person.  Like, literally stunning.  She could not find a single coherent thought in her mush of a brain right now.  Except that she wanted to ride his thigh like a Kentucky Derby champion.

Darcy took a deep breath to try and compose her raging hormones.  “This might actually end up being the high point of my day if you slid that tree trunk of a thigh a little bit higher.”  Well fuck composure apparently. 

She bit her lip and was about to apologize when his eyes shot to her mouth and his pupils dilated.  _Hello, there,_ her internal dialogue started to ramble. _Don’t mind me, I’m just here in a stairwell putting the moves on Captain America’s best friend since the literal 1920s._   Judging from that sleepy gaze and the way his face was starting to dip closer to hers, she had a pretty good feeling that her attention wasn’t exactly unwelcome.

A slight cough sounded behind them, breaking the sensual tension that had started to wrap around them.  The Winter Grumpasaurus shifted slightly, putting Darcy back on her feet.  A turn of events that had her cheerfully imaging throwing the visitor down the stairs in place of her interrupted tumble. 

Instead she reached up and patted Tall, Dark, and Handsome’s chest, flashing him a bright smile.  “I’m all good, bud.  But next time you rescue me from cracking my skull open like Humpty Dumpty, feel free to call me Darcy, mmkay?” 

He nodded, his lips quirked into a wry smile.  “Next time I rescue you, I’ll keep that in mind.”

That was totally a _when_ and not an _if_.  She was counting it as a victory.  Darcy grinned and stepped back a bit, clicking her tongue as she shot finger guns his way.  “Catch you later, then.”  She grabbed the elbow of the lost soul she had been in the middle of guiding and they continued on their way.

After the door to the stairwell shut behind them, the person she was guiding turned to her and spoke in a hushed, urgent whisper.  “Was that the _Winter Soldier_?  They let him run around free up here?”

“You’re looking for HR, right?”  Darcy glared at them, frowning and trying to do her best to channel an irate Pepper Potts.  “Here for a job interview?”  The other person swallowed hard and nodded.  “Then a word of advice.  You’d better keep that Judgey McJudgerton tone to yourself if they ask you anything about any of the Avengers.  Past, present, or,” she raised her eyebrows meaningfully, “future members.  _Comprende vous?_ ” 

She must have done a good job of channeling the Stark Industries CEO, because the other person was nodding furiously.  Darcy smiled, though it was more a showing of bare teeth than an expression of joy.  “Great.  Then you’ll want to talk to Joe Simon.  He’s down this way, third office on the right.”

Darcy waved goodbye to the applicant, then turned back to the stairs.  In all likelihood, one James Buchanan Barnes was already gone, moving on to the rest of his day.  She should probably do the same. 

Even if part of her was imagining all the ways she could climb him like Mr. Everest, and other appropriate analogies to express the strength of her physical desire.  Mmmm.  She thumbed at the corner of her mouth to make sure she wasn’t drooling just from the memory of being held against that rock-hard body.  Jane probably hadn't even noticed she was gone, but someone was likely to comment if she left drool marks all over the paperwork.


	5. Bucky-cat, Catpool, and Mewcy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DBD does the "turning into a cat" trope.

Natasha frowned at the hairless… cat with the mottled skin that was currently nestled in Darcy’s arms, burrowing its nose into the crook of her neck. “You’re saying _that_ is…”

Darcy pressed a soft kiss to the affectionate cat’s side, her eyes never leaving her tablet. “Wade. One of his friends-“ she paused, frowning- “coworkers? Fellow mercenaries? Dropped him off day before yesterday. There was some mystic mojo fight during his last job and a couple of the folks got turned into cats. He’s going to chill out with me until they figure out how to turn him back.” 

The cat reached out with a wrinkled paw and snagged a lock of her hair, pulling it to its face and chomping on it like a cow with a mouth full of cud. Natasha suppressed a grimace, but barely. “And you’re… fine with this?”

Darcy shrugged, the action pushing the cat up higher so that it… he could nuzzle and gnaw on her ear. “I figured it was one of those occupational hazard kind of things. I’m pretty sure a few weeks ago you all switched bodies because Wanda had the hiccups. It seemed to be about the same thing.” The cat sneezed directly in her ear, then returned to his vigorously affectionate gestures. Darcy seemed completely unfazed, eyes flicking back and forth over the display on her screen.

Natasha opened her mouth… “I…” then closed it… then opened it again… “Do you… does he need help or something?”

“Nah,” Darcy shook her head. “If he starts making trouble, I’ll just take him to the vet to get neutered. They’ll grow back when he turns back to a human.” She looked up, frowning slightly. “Probably.” The Spynx swatted her on the chin. She leaned back far enough to kiss the affronted cat on the forehead, then shifted him to her other shoulder. “Oh hush. If you behave, we’ll do the Dr. Evil/Mr. Bigglesworth cosplay you wanted.” Darcy glanced at Natasha, whose reactions had been reduced to random twitches of the muscle under her eye. “I know, right? 1997 called, it wants its sexual kinks back.”

The door to Darcy’s apartment burst open and a cat carrier entered, borne triumphantly by Deadpool. “D-fenestrate! I found the perfect cat to play Bucky-cat!” He spotted Natasha staring at him while Darcy rolled her eyes. “I mean, oh no, Darcy! Bucky’s been turned into a cat! And I’ve been miraculously cured of my magically-transmitted disease while simultaneously leaving an exact replica of the cat in your arms!”

She sighed, pushing herself to her feet and crossing the room to greet Deadpool with a kiss on his masked cheek. The cats were traded, with the mottled Sphynx cat nestling in the crook of Deadpool’s shoulder. A rusty, gravely purr oddly similar to Deadpool’s voice started to rumble forth from the wrinkled creature as it rubbed it’s face back and forth on the neck seam of his costume. 

Darcy put the cat carrier on a nearby counter and opened it. Almost immediately, a sleek black tomcat strode out of the carrier. Well, strode/hopped. In an astonishing coincidence, the new cat was missing the same limb as Bucky. The black cat took stock of his surroundings, then plopped himself down on the countertop and sprawled across it, yawning widely and showing off his sharp teeth.

Darcy glanced at Natasha and grinned. “You want in on this? I’m going to try and make Steve clean their litter boxes.”

\---..---

Natasha walked into the common room and immediately halted in her tracks. “No,” she told the pair sitting on the couch, wearing identical guilty looks. “Absolutely not. You three have spent the past week trying to convince everyone, you even had Clint bathe Catpool. This prank can literally go no further.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “About that…” The fluffy tabby kitten jumped free from his lap and rushed across the room to rub against Natasha’s leg. “She informed us by writing messages in the cat litter.”

“She incorporated the poop nuggets. It was very imaginative.” Deadpool added.

Natasha sighed as she bent down to pick up the tiny creature. “I swear, if she jumps out of a closet, I am not talking to any of you for a month.” She held the kitten up to her face and glared at it. “I’m serious. A month.”

The kitten mewed, a tiny, high-pitched sound, and reached out with one white-socked paw to boop the super-spy on the nose.


	6. Meet Cute (2.5 of 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short ort. This has been in my Orts file for a while, thought I'd finish it off so I could move on to other orts.

The next time Barnes met Deadpool, it was at another celebration of some sort. He was fairly sure this one was for someone’s birthday. Specifically, the someone he’d met and mauled in a stairwell. The dynamo that had rubbed up against him and purred like a cat rubbed in just the right way. He hadn’t talked to her yet, but he had watched her receive well-wishes from the rest of their motley crew. 

And because he was watching her, he’d caught her looking at him. More than once. 

Then Deadpool was falling back onto the couch next to him, stretching his arms out across the back. A move that was barely a step above the old yawn-and-grab that teenagers played at in the pictures when he was a kid. Usually he had been the one instigating it. It was weird, but not totally uncomfortable, to lean into it as he shifted to face Deadpool directly. 

“Hey, Buckaroo. How’s it hanging?” The mercenary rested his cheek on a fist, grinning at Bucky behind the red and black mask.

“To the left,” Barnes answered automatically, not really thinking about the question or the implications of his answer until Deadpool grabbed at his chest with an exaggerated gasp of surprise.

“This is flirting! You’re flirting with me! I’m going to have to mark this day on my calendar because this is the most frabjous of days.”

“Just don’t gyre and gymble, I don’t think poor Stark’s heart can take it.” Bucky replied, his mouth unwittingly returning the mercenary’s infectious grin. 

Deadpool tilted his head back and laughed, the sound resounding over the noise of the party and drawing everyone’s eyes to them. Bucky found that after so long being nearly invisible, he didn’t mind others watching them; or more accurately, watching Deadpool watching him. 

“You’re a delight, James Buchanemous Barnes. You are an absolute delight.”

So was watching the apoplectic fit Stark threw every time Deadpool thwarted his counter-teleportation efforts.

“I aim to please.” Bucky told Deadpool while meeting Darcy’s eyes across the room.


	7. Captain America PSAs + The Internet = A Friday full of hilarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's be real. Any universe where the internet exists AND Capt America PSAs exist would have a Youtube gallery full of imitation videos. Through that concept this ort was born. Some spoilers for... Easter eggs in Spiderman: Homecoming? Because it certainly doesn't spoil the plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the main story happens at a time in the near future where Bucky's arm is fixed, it is also a time when Peter has graduated high school and is doing some interning and/or working part-time with Tony doing SCIENCE! So this Peter is MCU Spiderman: Homecoming compliant without spoiling the movie.
> 
> Also, I went to see the movie with a 15 year old and 16 year old, and neither one of them knew what the Presidential Fitness Challenge was. *sighs*

“Right now your body is going through some changes. Believe me, I understand what that’s like.”

“Every classroom?” Darcy asked in startled awe, one hand held to her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle the giggle that shook her.

“Yep,” Peter confirmed. There was some down time in the lab as the big science honchos were out of town presenting their latest findings. That lead to a lack of work for the lowly science minions, which meant Friday had rapidly transformed into an endless playlist of hilarious Youtube videos. Which had lead to this latest find…

“Ooh, oh! Click on the remix one!” Darcy leaned over Peter’s shoulder and pointed at the monitor, then clapped her hands in delight when the speakers started to thump along with a techno beat. “Yes!”

“R-r-r-right now your BO~O~O~O~DY is going through some C-C-C-C-CHANGES.” 

Their laughter drowned out the sound from the speakers. “Wait!” Peter spun to face her, fairly bouncing in his seat. “You need to see the Bad Lip Reading version!” His fingers danced over the keyboard, rapid fire clicks like bullets. 

Darcy made it through “rough gumshoe matrix” before she was doubled over in her chair, face buried in her hands to hide the tears streaming from her face. “Oh gods, thank you so much for sharing this, Peter. I can die happy now, knowing that this exists and that an entire generation of disenfranchised high school students have been forcefully introduced to this utter ridiculousness.”

“I and my disenfranchised generation thank you,” Peter replied, grinning at her obvious delight. “Do you want to watch ‘Leave Cap’n Alone!’ now?

Darcy gasped, jerking upright and grabbing at his hands. “Yes, yes, yes, what is this, show me now, I must have this masterpiece before me right now. Show me all of the Captain America PSA memes immediately. This is a void that I didn’t know existed and must be filled.”

“Uh,” Peter laughed, pulling his hands free to return to his automatic fire typing. “That’s something I think you need to bring up with your boyfriends. I’m just here as the Youtube VJ.”

“Psh.” Darcy waved a hand dismissively. “Boyfriends, schmoyfriends. I decide who and what fills my voids, Petey.”

“Aaaand too much information,” Peter shook his head with a good-natured grimace. Darcy just tossed her head back and laughed, the bright sound echoing through the room.


	8. Being tied up in bed is normal (while wearing a cartoon character's mask is not)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word to the wise: don't call Bucky "Hot Tub Time Machine" when he's in deep cover. There will be consequences. Naked consequences.

Darcy wasn’t really paying attention when she entered the bedroom. That was her excuse, anyway. There wasn’t any sign that either of her two favorite muscle-bound mercenaries had entered the apartment before her, so she wasn’t expecting the mouth-watering platter of naked and taut muscles under scarred skin stretched out spread-eagle over the bed.

Her fingers flitted over the ridges of his scars, tracing them up the length of his calves, then around the curve of his thighs, into the darkened crevasses between, before stuttering to a halt just a hairs’ breadth from the taut curve of his scrotum. 

“Wade, honey…” She paused, thumb reflexively digging into the thick muscle of his thigh. He gave a pleased groan in return, hips jerking upwards. “Why are you wearing a Garfield mask?”

The hard orange plastic shifted as he ground his teeth, twisting his upper body towards her as far as his restraints would allow. “Because you’ve always wanted to be Arlene?”

Darcy pulled her hand away, briefly, returning only to trace the welts on his hip. “You’ve got one shaped like a seahorse over here now, by the way. What’s the real reason?”

Wade’s head flopped back on to the pillow and his breath whistled as he blew it out through the small hole in the mask. “I… may have ruined one of Smoochie-poo’s ops.” 

Darcy rewarded his honesty with a warm hand pressed firmly against his ribs. At his sigh, she leaned forward, far enough that he could feel the warmth of her body, even if their skin wasn’t touching. “Wade…” She murmured, her voice prompting him to elucidate on the brief statement.

“Ugh.” Wade slammed his head against the pillow once, twice, thrice (just because the author likes the word thrice). “Okay, okay, okay. I _may_ have popped in on him in the middle of an operation. Where he was deep under cover. And I _may_ have groped him a little bit. And I _**may**_ have called him ‘Hot Tub Time Machine.’ And in doing so, I _**may**_ have completely blown his cover and causedasmallfirefightimsorry.”

The slow movement of her hand halted, hovering over his rippled abs. A long, slow, aching pause before she finally spoke; “And?”

Wade screwed his eyes shut, dreading the inevitable fallout. “And I’m tied up here until he gets out of the infirmary but he was just grazed, I swear!”

Sure enough, the small point of warmth provided by her hand was withdrawn. When she spoke, her voice was heavy with disapproval. “You guys were shot?” 

Wade used what mobility he had to gesture vaguely with his elbows to where he had been hit. “Flesh wounds, baby, just flesh wounds.” His attempts at reassurance were met with silence. He tilted his head to try and meet Darcy’s gaze through the slits of the mask. “He should be back any minute now.”

Through the small gaps, he saw her tilt her head back until her curls brushed her ass, then take in a deep breath and blow it out slowly. After a few seconds that seemed to take ages, she turned her head far enough to meet his gaze through the plastic prison. When her eyes met his, her lips turned upwards in an evil, feral grin as her hand moved south to his so-far neglected dick. “Well,” she said in dulcet tones as her velvet-soft hand stroked the engorged flesh, “this seems like something you and Bucky need to work out for yourselves, so I’ll just…” soft, schlicking sounds as she used his own pre-cum to lubricate her strokes, “wait in the living room for Bucky to get home. He is the wronged party, after all.”

Wade groaned, pushing his head back into the pillow so far that his neck protested from the strain. Through the slits of the mask, he was able to see Darcy rise to her feet, sniffing delicately at her hand before wiping it on her jeans. His groan was stifled by the thin plastic, but it didn’t hide her smirk. She saluted him with her damp fingers as she left the room.

Wade paused, then lifted his head and thumped it into the pillow in rapid succession; one, two, three. He focused his limited vision on the ceiling tiles and let out a heartfelt groan.

“I hate Mondays,” he grumbled.


	9. Maybe Garfield had it all wrong (Mondays might be the best)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the last chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just saw Thor: Ragnarok, and I think Brunhilde would have a lot in common with Darcy.

Bucky stretched as he walked through the front door of their apartment, feeling the pull of silk thread on healing skin.  Honestly, he didn't know why the medics even bothered stitching him up for wounds like this.  The stuff they gave him might not be the same as the super-enhanced juice Steve got, but it was still enough to speed up his own recovery and repair stuff like this in the blink of an eye.

(The memories were there, of men who had suffered wounds far less severe but died of sepsis or infection.  He pushed them aside with force of will.)

He was surprised (and no little bit pleased) to find Darcy in the living room, attention focused on one of her reality tv shows.  He had half expected to find her cuddled up with Wade, having released him from the punishment that Bucky had administered.  He flopped onto the couch next to her, dark blue gaze focused on the tv where a blond man in chef whites was yelling for whatever reason.  He slid a hand over the couch cushions until it met hers and grabbed it in a firm grasp.  In response, Darcy leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder.  He couldn't fight the small half-smile that tugged at the corner of his lip and didn't try.

"You're okay now?"  Her voice broke the silence, a tentative sound compared to the furious shouts from the television. 

Bucky pulled his hand free from her grasp and wrapped it around her shoulders, using it to pull her close, burying his face in her hair and taking a moment to inhale deeply so he could absorb her scent.  "I'll be fine, sweetheart."  He sighed heavily.  "To be honest, I actually don't mind that much.  The whole business was starting to go south anyway and having him for backup was useful.  He just scared the living shit out of me while he was doing it." 

Darcy struggled to imagine what Wade could have done to scare Bucky so much that he would take such drastic measures as tying him down.  “What happened that was so bad? Other than getting shot, I mean.”

Bucky snorted, shaking his head.  “How about we go back there and you can ask him yourself?”

\---..---

The problem with sensory deprivation was that it separated Wade from his current reality.  If he was left to stare up at a neutral ceiling full of neutral tiles.  So here he was, staring at a random tile, and wondering how badly the events of movies started after this particular fanfic would affect the progression of the story.  In essence, how many Joss Whedon could a Joss Whedon joss if a Joss Whedon did joss Joss Whedon?

Heh, joss.  What a fun word.  Joss.  Joossssss.

Through the slats of the plastic mask, Wade could see the door open and the top of Darcy's curles next to Bucky's broad shoulders. "So I get that this is punishment and all," he said, his voice muffled behind cheap plastic, "but to be honest, it's only like 28.35% punishment. The rest is mostly boredom."

"That's not the punishment," Bucky said, his voice low and rough. The mask was pulled free from Wade's face, and he blinked against the sudden rush of light before focusing on Bucky, who hovered over him, mask dangling from one hand. He was shirtless, a pair of flannel pants slung low on his hips. Wade skimmed his gaze over the well defined muscles, pausing briefly on a gash that was healing behind the surgical stitches. "That was to keep you occupied so you wouldn't run from the real punishment." (mmm, that iliac muscle that you just want to bite- wait, what?) His eyes shot to meet Bucky's, who met his nervous stare with a carefully neutral expression. "You told Darcy what happened?"

Wade nodded warily, his attention shooting over to Darcy, who was chewing on her lower lip, a small, worried frown creasing her brow. When she noticed him staring, she brushed her hand over the new seahorse shaped scars on the side of his ribs, soft enough that it was more a tickle than a caress.

Bucky leaned in close, until he was lying on the bed next to Wade, weight braced on his elbows, close enough that the ends of his hair brushed against Wade's shoulder.  "Did you tell her how badly you were hurt?"

"No, but it's fine.  I'm totally fine folks, don't worry about it.  I'm practically immortal, amazing healing factor and all that!"  He babbled as the small frown on Darcy's face grew even deeper as it morphed into an expression of full-on concern.  "I hardly even died that much!  Just for a couple of seconds and-"

"YOU DIED?!" Darcy screeched, pulling away and shit, that hurt more than he expected. Her hand hovered over his body again, but suddenly she seemed unwilling to actually make contact with his scarred flesh. (Pretty sure that's an instant lady-boner killer. Good going, hot shot.)

"But I'm alive now, so it's not necrophilia!" Wade tried to reassure her. Next to him, Bucky smacked his hand into his face, muffling his groan into his palm.

"That. Is. Not. The. Point!" Darcy growled, putting extra emphasis on each word while her pretty brown eyes glared fiercly at him.

Now it was Wade's turn to frown as he darted his gaze between his two lovers, completely confused. "It isn't? I die practically every other day and twice on Tuesdays. I used to be in the world's most codependant relationship with Lady Death, who by the way is a complete fox but you're much foxier and oh my god there is no coming back from this. Forget I ever said anything about Her, it's completely over between us, not that there ever was an us to begin with, you know being practically immortal makes a relationship with Death pretty hard and why am I still talking? It isn't making anything any better. Just, I don't get what the big deal is about dying."

Fuck, now she was crying. Her eyes were red and starting to swell as tears welled in her eyes. "That might be the saddest thing I've ever heard. Like, sadder than Old Yeller and Where the Red Fern Grows, and every Newbury book with dead pets combined." She wiped her budding tears away with the heels of her hands, sniffling slightly. "Crap, Wade, why wouldn't I feel bad that you died? You're not a video game character that gets to reset at the beginning of the mission."

(Ah, shit. Incoming feels alarm! WOOP WOOP WOOP!)

Wade watched Darcy struggle to keep her composure while Bucky kept carefully still at his side, his attention focused on Wade. 

"I'm not great at this feels stuff," Wade told Bucky, making his voice and body language as earnest as possible, "can I just chew on your muscles until I'm forgiven?"

Darcy busted out laughing, the sound wet and choked but it seemed to be successful at staving off her emotional crisis.

Wade turned to Darcy, focusing his earnestness on her.  "You seem to be having a problem with the whole healing factor thing."  Beside him Bucky shifted and suddenly his hands were free.  As soon as he felt the restraints loosen, he was jerking up and pulling her to him, wrapping his arms, legs, and willing his very soul to wrap around her and try to provide some small measure of comfort.  "I didn't think it would be something you would worry about.  It's pretty much a fact of life for me."  A shiny metal arm wrapped around them both and pulled them down onto the bed until Wade was firmly snuggled in the slot of middle spoon, arms and legs tangling together like the world's weirdest octopus.  (The math is wrong, buddy.  That's more like a dodecapus.)

Whatever.  Wade brushed Darcy's hair out from under her head until it spread like a dark curtain over the pillow behind them.  (This is your chance to be sappy, bud.  Are you going to be the sappiest sapster that ever did sap?)  "Look, I gotta be honest, I'm having a hard-enough time with this whole not killing the bad guys anymore thing.  It's going to be damn near impossible to promise that I won't die doing what I do.  I can't just sit behind a desk and be like 'business business business, numbers numbers!' all day long.  And you know what, I make good money and I have fun doing it." 

"We're not asking you to quit bein' a merc, Wade."  Bucky chimed in for the first time since the epic flood of feels had started, brushing his lips over the back of Wade's neck.  "We ain't got no problem with who you are.  Just want you to treat yourself the way we want to treat you."  Darcy hummed her agreement into his chest, and just like the fucking Grinch he felt his heart grow three sizes that day. 


	10. Five times Darcy rescued herself plus one time she had to be rescued.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A 5+1 fic where Darcy doesn't do damsel in distress very well.

1\. The time no one paid attention during lab safety training.  
  
"You owe me a new sweater," Darcy frowned at her lovers, one fist propped on her hip while the other pointed a taser at them (could it still be called a taser after being reworked by a certain genius mechanical engineer?).   
  
The sweater in question was decorated with a picture of a woman hugging a piece of pizza with a banner reading "True Love."  The sweater also bore a large coffee stain on the back and was covered in a nasty yellow goop, a by-product of the lab accident that had transported her in a flash of bright light. (By and large, Darcy had yet to meet a bright flash of light that she liked. Not to be judgmental or anything, this was just based on her personal experience.) Thankfully, it hadn't been an inter-dimensional transportation event, but she had landed in the middle of a small bank robbery in a medium-sized city in Utah.  
  
And the cause of that bright flash of light (BFOL? She was totally calling them BFOLs now) was holstering his guns (phrasing!) while he looked everywhere but around her general direction in an attempt to avoid her angry glare.   
  
"Bucky."  
  
The culprit tried to hide behind Wade, who just reached behind him and dragged Bucky to the forefront, unabashedly exposing him to Darcy's ire. "Technically it's my sweater," Bucky said, finally making eye contact, then wincing when he realized what he said.  
  
She rolled her eyes and huffed a sigh, dropping the 'disappointed mom' tone and aggressive pose. She stepped over the zip-tied and gagged man lying at her feet and crossed the lobby to pat Bucky's arm (and maybe squeezing his impressive bicep just a little). "This is why you need to stay awake during my lab safety training," she told him with a small smirk, dropping her hand until it caught his, twining their fingers together.   
  
"'No touchy the smoking beakers,'" Bucky quoted from said training, nodding. "I reacted before I thought about it. Grabbing and throwing away things that are about to explode is a pretty deeply ingrained habit."  
  
Wade leaned down and brushed a kiss on Darcy's cheek, a brief press of smooth fabric to her skin. "Don't hold too big of a grudge against him, Lew-Lew. He's beaten himself up plenty over this." He pulled Darcy's taser out of her hand and tucked it away in one of his pouches, then wrapped his hand around her now free one.  
  
Trying to be mad at Bucky was like being mad at a puppy. (Should they try the cat prank again with puppies? Bucky would totally be a Doberman. Wade would be a Chinese Crested.) A puppy in the middle of the Puppy Bowl. While wearing a little bow tie (houndstooth, of course). "I'm only a little bit mad," she admitted, "and I'm mostly mad at that dweebus for trying to knock over this bank." She indicated said dweebus with a jerk of her chin to the dazed and bound man on the floor. As if one could miss him. "But I'm not hurt and I saved the day, so I guess we can mark this one in the win column." She squeezed his hand and received a squeeze in return and he relaxed slightly. "But," she added, leaning back on her heels and staring up at him with narrowed eyes. "I'm absolutely going to exploit this for free pampering. Fair warning."  
  
Distant sirens could be heard in the silent lobby. Darcy turned to the silent and staring bank employees and hapless customers that had been caught in the short-lived robbery, waving goodbye with the hand holding Wade's. "Today's rescue has been provided by a serendipitous coincidence! Goodbye, and don't forget to tip your waiters!"   
  
Bucky chuckled and Wade laughed as he poked at his teleportation device, currently located on his belt. In short order, they were whisked away back to their homes on the East coast.  
  
For the next three months, whenever Bucky visited the lab he had to put hands in pockets. It was supposed to be six, but a few days in, he cottoned on to the fact that no one had specified which pockets they were supposed to be in, resulting in him tucking his hands in the front pockets of Darcy's jeans.  
  
"What the hell kind of pockets are these? There's no room to actually hold anything!"  
  
"Preaching to the choir, Smoochie-poo."

2\. Wade's got enemies. Darcy's got ingenuity.  
  
Darcy stumbled as she was shoved into the small room, turning and glaring at the goon who had man-handled her here. "Dick," she spat as she recovered her balance. "I hope that for the rest of time all your phones fall in the toilet. What the hell am I even doing here, anyway?"

The goon smirked, hefting his assault rifle in what was probably supposed to be a menacing way. Instead it just looked like the armed goon version of the pee-pee dance. "Angel Dust wants your ugly-ass boyfriend. We grab you, he comes after, we get the bounty on his head."  
  
"Wow," Darcy mocked, completely deadpan and resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "That is such a great plan. Whatever will I do?" The assault rifle should bother her more, but she was pretty sure the goon wasn't smart enough to point it in the right direction, much less know how to take the safety off. Plus, it sure didn't take much for the goon to reveal the plan. Maybe he was practicing his own villainous monologues for the day when he split off and formed his own evil henchgroup.  
  
Whatever the goon's future plans were, his current plans involved scowling at Darcy and slamming the door shut on her. She shrugged and turned to the small window on the far wall. They had nailed plywood over the small opening, but they hadn't thought to remove the plunger. Years of jury-rigging Jane's equipment for operation in the field until it was held together with nothing more than duct tape and puppy farts had taught her to expand a tool's repertoire beyond it's advertised use. She was able to pry the plywood away from the wall a couple inches, which was enough to force the handle of the plunger into the gap and turn it into a lever. In short order, she had pried the plywood sheet off the window and was sliding it open.  
  
The makeshift cell was on the second floor, with a thorny rose bush directly under it, and a concrete path just beyond. "This is going to suck," she groaned, heaving herself through the window and bracing for the jump.  
  
She aimed for the rose bush, since the thorns would hurt but a bad landing likely wouldn't be fatal, and it was with pride that she later claimed she only screamed a little.  
  
Luckily, her screams were covered by the sound of gunfire. Darcy could guess at the reason for the firefight happening in the distance. As she pushed herself to her feet and brushed herself off, she noticed the tears and spots of blood on her clothes and growled colorful curses at the goon who had pushed her into the makeshift prison and all his barely competent coworkers. Then she headed toward the sounds of chaos, lamenting the ruin of yet another good sweater.  
  
3\. Darcy has a challenger.  
  
"I come for the one known as Darcy Lewis, conqueror of the God of Lightning!"  
  
Darcy paused in mid-bite of gelato, glancing at her companions before turning to the Armored Ass (AA) interrupting her sweet, sweet dessert time. "What did you come for, exactly?" Her tone was flat, demonstrating her disdain for the ornate armor the challenger wore over their street clothes.   
  
AA pointed her weapon at Darcy, still speaking in that bombastic way, though it seemed to be a forced style compared to other Asgardians. She took another look at her would-be challenger, who seemed to be less and less likely to be an Asgardian. "To challenge you to glorious combat! When I defeat you, then all will see that my benefactor is superior to the weaklings in line for Odin's throne and appoint her as King!"  
  
Darcy shrugged, pointing at the dessert she was sharing with her lovers, ignoring the incredulous stares from Thor and Jane. "I'm going to finish this first, then I'll get to you."  
  
"Very well!" Her challenger sat down in a booth across from them at the small gelato shop, setting their medieval weapon on the table and spending the entire time staring at Darcy's table.  
  
Thor leaned over and whispered across the table; "Do you wish for assistance? This challenger does not know that you felled me when I was stripped of my powers. I would stand on your behalf, since it is my position they intend to challenge."  
  
"Nah," Darcy shrugged, pausing to let the delicious Italian treat melt in her mouth. "I got this." She pushed the bowl of gelato over to Bucky, who moved it on to Wade. Wade pulled a Rambo-esque combat knife free from his belt with one hand while he eagerly dug into the dessert with the other. Bucky drew a gun from seemingly nowhere and held it casually on his thigh under the table. She probably shouldn't be so turned on by their ability to draw deadly weapons from seemingly nowhere, but that was a message that her nethers refused to receive.  
  
Darcy pushed the gun down and out of range of the Asgardian, pressing a sticky-sweet kiss to Bucky's dreamy square jaw before scooting out of the booth and walking over to where her challenger sat in wait.  
  
"All right, who are you?"  
  
"I am Astrid, champion of Amora the Enchantress! In her name, I will smite you, Darcy Lewis, and prove that she is worthy of the throne of Asgard!"   
  
"Okay," Darcy said, when Astrid had yet to provide any sort of justification for her quest on Amora's behalf. "Are you, like, friends with her? Why are you doing this for her?"  
  
"She- she was looking for a true warrior to fight for her cause. Someone of bravery and valor!"  
  
"Pretty sure they're the same thing," Darcy said absently, her gaze flicking over the intricate armor. "So you had some rando chick come up and ask you to fight on her behalf and promise all sorts of things. Am I right to say that she pretty much said you were the Chosen One, straight out of every young adult fantasy novel ever?"  
  
Astrid nodded, a red flush starting on her cheeks and beginning to creep over the rest of her face. The righteousness had disappeared, leaving a sullen teenager. Darcy leaned across the table and put her hands over the other woman's, which were clenched into tight fists on the top of the table next to her weapon. "She promised glory and recognition," Astrid said quietly, focusing her rage at the impervious table surface.   
  
Darcy sighed heavily and tightened her grasp. "This chick is thousands of years old and has a shit-ton of experience manipulating people. Don't beat yourself up over this. Her reason for existing is literally to take advantage of people who are unsatisfied with their lives. You were unhappy and she manipulated you; you don't need to beat yourself up over that."  
  
Across the booth from her, the challenger's eyes grew red and she started to sniffle. Astrid wiped vigorously at her face and pushed the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to convince herself not to cry. "It seems so stupid when you say it like that."  
  
"No no no no no," Darcy left her position opposite Astrid to scoot into the seat next to her and pull her into an embrace. "You wanted to be special. There's nothing wrong with that. This is all Amora's fault for feeding your wants in a way that suited her needs. You're already special because you're you."  
  
The young woman uttered a harsh, laugh, thick through her tears. "As if I could believe in that hippy dippy bullshit. I listened to her because I was desperate, and now I'm carrying a damn sword in the middle of downtown Manhattan."  
  
As far as Darcy could tell, Astrid was younger, but they shared the same temperament. She felt a rush of guilt; if their situations were reversed, Darcy might well be the one fooled by a manipulative Asgardian and trying to challenge someone when she had no practical combat experience. She pulled her erstwhile challenger even closer, tucking their teary face into the crook of her shoulder. "Yeah, but you didn't really do anything with it. No harm, no foul, right? I mean, if the cops show up, at best you're just a really enthusiastic cosplayer."  
  
Astrid snort-laughed at that, letting Darcy's sweater soak up her tears. Darcy sent a brief thanks to whatever gods were looking over her that she'd chosen to steal one of Wade's rare clean sweaters prior to her search for sweet icy cold treats. While Darcy was thinking about how to get mascara and other assorted make up out of Wade's sweater, Astrid used the soft cloth to wipe away her tears.  
  
"Thanks," the manipulated Midgardian breathed, wiping ineffectually at the black streaks left behind on the shoulder and arm of Darcy's (slash Wade's) sweater. "I guess I just needed to cry it out."  
  
"No problem." Darcy pulled out her phone, opening the new contact screen before waving it at Astrid. "Any time you want to vent, you just call me, okay?" The women exchanged information, and Darcy wrapped her arms around younger woman in an enthusiastic hug, then scooted out of the booth so that the embarrassed would-be champion could escape the attention of the entire gelato shop (which at this point was solely comprised of her friends, a stranger in armor with a sword typically being one of the standard indicators that wanton superhero destruction was imminent). Darcy slid back into her previous position at the booth with her friends, pulling what was left of her dessert from Wade's slack grip. She frowned at the liquid slush barely covering the bottom of the cup, desolately trying to fill her spoon with what was left and failing miserably.  
  
Jane was the first to react; instead of congratulating Darcy she leaned across the table and smacked her friend in the arm. "What the hell were you even thinking?!" She demanded as Darcy cringed away from the unexpected accusation.   
  
"I was thinking that maybe whoever told her to challenge me didn't tell her the whole truth, and she deserved something like that!" Darcy shot back, cradling her sore arm and glaring at Jane. It was more of a mock-glare than a real glare, though, the heat of any actual ire was missing from her fierce gaze.   
  
Jane threw her arms in the air with a loud put-upon sigh, shaking her head and letting her arms flop dramatically to the table. "I guess I can understand, since you have such a hard time saying no to anyone." She paused, then shook a finger in Darcy's face. "Seriously though, you really risked your life back there! And all for someone that you thought *might* turn on their sponser or advocate or whatever to side with us. One of these days you're going to be wrong, and it's not going to be you that suffers the consequences, it'll be us!"  
  
Darcy shook her head and sighed at the diatribe, knowing that Jane came from a good place. There wasn't really any promise that she could make that would satisfy Jane's demands that she be safe with the challenges that came due to her being one that felled the God of Lightning. Instead, she tried to pacify Jane with a vague shrug. "Sorry? But I did save her from getting her ass handed to her by Thor. Or getting shot or stabbed by someone." She aimed a significant glance at Bucky and Wade.  
  
"Just being cautious, Lew-Lew!" Wade replied cheerily.  
  
She frowned at them, suspicious at the lack of immediate agreement with Jane's concerns. "You seem oddly blase about the whole thing."  
  
Bucky shrugged. "You're smart enough to take care of yourself. And," he added after a short pause, a sly grin creeping around the corners of his mouth, "you gave up any right to give us shit about taking stupid risks."  
  
4\. Panic rooms are essential.  
  
Darcy had one condition for moving in together, and that was a Panic Room that the Hulk would struggle to break into. She won't be stuffed in a fridge, thank you very much, and upon her insistence the unassuming little house out in the 'burbs was equipped with a state of the art security system, as well as a hidey-hole that was stocked with enough food and coffee to last several weeks and an emergency link to F.R.I.D.A.Y. (Their relationship isn't any better or worse than the one she'd had with J.A.R.V.I.S., it's just... different). It looked like a fallout shelter, and when Bucky dropped his hands from her eyes, she giggled and bounced with glee.  
  
(The gleeful bouncing led to bouncing of an entirely different type, and the spacious panic room was the first room in the house to be initiated in the time-honored manner.)  
  
She didn't find out the absolutely *best* thing about the room until she was taking shelter in it one day while masked mooks prowled through the house looking for Bucky. He was off doing super secret squirrel stuff that she's not supposed to know about (puh-lease, like she doesn't take advantage of Tony's back door into SHIELD every time he disappears into the ether), and Wade was teaming up with Peter for some patrol work, probably teaching him all kinds of bad habits that the kid's mentors were going to have to break later. So when the security beeped a quiet warning, she bibbity-bopped her way downstairs into the panic room and booted up the computer so she can watch the security cameras. And that's when she found  **It**.  
  
An icon on the desktop, an 8-bit representation of a screaming child titled 'Kevin McCallister' was placed in the center of the screen, helpfully highlighted by a desktop background that featured large red and black arrows pointing at the icon. "Oh, you darling angels, you," she breathed, biting her lower lip in anticipation as she opened the program. A small window opened, three large buttons taking up the center of the display. 'Humiliating' 'Maiming' and 'Lethal' they read in large black letters. She clicked on 'Humiliating' and was rewarded with a blueprint of the house, little red boxes indicating where traps were planted. When she hovered the pointer over the box, several things happened all at once. A helpful pop-up gave a brief overview of the trap, a small frame opened in the upper left-hand corner with footage from the security camera in that room (live, she assumed), and the program helpfully highlighted the anticipated area of effect for the trap.   
  
"This is like Home Alone on steroids," she said to herself, poking around in the program. Every room had at least one humiliating, incapacitating, and lethal trap. And, Darcy noted to her everlasting glee, the cameras were also had audio, allowing her to listen in on the skeezoids who were currently going through her dresser drawers. (Like she didn't see the one goon pocketing a pair of her lacy panties, the creep.) She was debating on whether or not she wanted to activate the traps and let them know she was here, or just wait for them to leave.  
  
Popcorn was popping in the microwave when the computer speakers buzzed and a familiar red, black, and white icon flashed in the lower right corner. "Hey, handsome," Darcy greeted the caller when she opened the secure line.  
  
"Darcy," Wade whooshed out a loud breath, relief clear in his tone (and the fact that he used her given name instead of a nickname). "The security alarms went off. Are you all right?" He paused for a moment. "Are you making popcorn?"  
  
"Yes, and yes." She leaned back in her chair, unconsciously smiling at the sound of his voice. "Some yahoos are planting bugs in the house right now. I don't think they know I'm here, but you guys are getting a fan-fucking-tastic welcome home after the present I found on my computer down here."   
  
Wade chuckled, his voice low and soft over the connection. "I do appreciate an enthusiastic thank you for my efforts. Did they come in before or after you got ready for bed? What are you wearing right now?" A faint shriek could be heard in the background, followed by several loud shouts of 'NO' over and over again. "Spidey says 'hi' by the way."  
  
She laughed as she pulled the freshly popped snack from the microwave and poured it into a small bowl. "Tell him 'hi' back, and don't worry, we won't soil his precious ears with phone sex while you're out on patrol." She paused. "This time."  
  
"Spoilsport," Wade said, but his tone was warm and carried a hint of concern. "You sure you're fine?"  
  
Darcy flipped through the cameras, idly watching the intruders. They seemed to be searching for something. If either man had anything worth stealing, it was likely in the room with Darcy. "For now. If it makes you feel better, I'll keep the line open until they leave."  
  
"Yes, please," he sighed with relief. "I need someone to judge the witty repartee between me and Spidey. He keeps thinking that he's got me beat, but I say that puns don't count."  
  
Darcy heaved a regretful sigh, shaking her head. On the screen, one of the mooks waved the others toward the basement stairs. "Sorry, Wade," she said, narrowing her eyes as a contingent of mooks headed down the stairs and ever closer to her hiding spot, "you know how much I love a good pun. Or a bad one."  
  
"She says I'm right," Wade told his companion. She heard the other hero's disdainful raspberry through Wade's microphone. "No respect," he muttered in an utterly abysmal impression of Rodney Dangerfield.   
  
The camera outside the panic room showed a small group of mooks entering the room containing the entrance to her hiding spot. "Shit," she muttered, bolting upright in her chair and shoving her popcorn bowl to the side. She brought up the Home Alone program, ignoring Wade's worried questions. "Just a second, babe. Looks like I get to test this fancy program you left me." She hovered the pointer over 'Humiliating' and skipped straight to 'Incapacitating' which popped up several traps set up for this room alone; enough to bring down the entire room five times over.   
  
She flipped through the cameras again, trying to get a head count and figure out just how many of the masked creeps were left in the rest of the house. "They haven't found me, but I think they know that I'm hidden away somewhere. About half of them are in the basement looking for something." His response was a wordless growl that she ignored, hoving the mouse pointer over the traps in the kitchen. "Calm down, babe." Two or three of them were poking around in the kitchen, and were the furthest away from her hiding spot. She activated the first trap and a small nozzle poked up over the back of the stove. Nothing happened at first, until Darcy caught a subtle 'clik' over the camera's audio and suddenly a fireball engulfed the entire kitchen, followed by the screams and curses of the mooks caught in the blast. She winced. "Wade, how much of your standard mook outfit is polyester or synthetic fiber?"  
  
"Probably about 90-97% of it. I take it you found the flamethrower in the bathroom?"  
  
"Fireballs in the kitchen," Darcy replied, skipping the camera to the next room to quiet the screams. Thank goodness Smell-o-vision was still fictional. "We're going to have to have a talk about what 'incapacitating' means later on, though."   
  
"Incapacitating for you isn't the same as incapacitating for me," Wade argued. "Stay put, honey buns, I'm on my way home. Sure, you can come along, Spidey. I love to have bystanders witness my general awesomeness as I kick ass."  
  
Darcy activated another trap and watched as tiny white pellets turned the stairs into slick, frictionless surfaces, sending two mooks hurtling down them ass over tea-kettle. Another one shot a barrage of what looked like rubber bullets across the room. Trap after trap was activated, and the room outside was nearly empty as the mooks abandoned their search for her to aid their companions. All but one determined soul, who was getting way too close to the entrance for her peace of mind. Soon they were the last one left non-incapacitated (capacitated?) and were oh so inconveniently hovering in the sole blind spot that none of the incapacitating traps covered.   
  
The lethal trap for that room didn't have any blind spots.  
  
The pointer hovered over the activation button for the trap, one click away from completely ending the ignorant bastard's life. She bit her lip so hard the metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth. (It isn't like playing a video game. A single muscle spasm and he's gone.) Her hand tensed and she lifted it away from the mouse, unwilling to bet the mook's life on a twitch.  
  
"Darcy!"  
  
She drew in a sharp breath, finally realizing that now there were two flashing icons in the screen's lower right corner; Deadpool's icon and a new one, a blue snowflake. "I'm fine," she rushed to reassure them once she realized that they had both been calling her name repeatedly. "There's only one of them left." The mook's head popped up, and she watched them quickly leave the room. She flipped through the feeds to track them as they passed through the house, speaking for the first time as they called out to their companions. The traps had left most of them conscious, able to limp out of the house or help their unconscious companions out. "They're leaving." She reached out for her popcorn, ignoring the way her hand was shaking. "Is there a feedback survey for this program? I'd like to remove the lethal traps. Or maybe require a retinal scan or some kind of password lock or something." (She might make morbid jokes, but she wasn't ready to cross that line just yet. Especially with something as easy as a reflexive muscle twitch.)  
  
"Sure, sweetheart, sure." Bucky said soothingly. "I'll be home tomorrow, and we'll get everything set up how you want it."  
  
"Sit tight, Lew-Lew," Wade added, "Spidey's giving me a lift, I'll be home soon."  
  
There was a brief pause. "Wade," Bucky's frown was audible, "did you forget you have a teleporter?"  
  
Another pause. "Fucking hell."  
  
5.  Despite what Jane might think, Darcy wasn't completely foolhardy.  She did have the sense to recognize when a situation was dangerous and keep her head down accordingly.  

But then sometimes...  Sometimes there was no calculation and she was just going by her gut.  You kind of had to in order to survive in a place where supervillains can and would attack at any moment.  

Such as today, this moment, when Darcy was waiting in the lobby of a fancy real-estate agency on the forty-something-est floor. She had volunteered to run an errand for Pepper, something that had something to do with property values in some out of the way area where Tony apparently wanted to set up his gajillionth winter lodge.  

She had yet to properly take revenge for the tea prank before her vacation.  In order to distract herself while waiting for her appointment, Darcy started to dream up ways to properly ambush Tony the first time he tried to stay on the property.  Her current favorite idea was to decorate each room in the other Avenger's colors and rig up glitter bombs at unexpected intervals.  _Shoot_ , she mused, idly flipping through the packet of papers in her lap but not really reading them, _I'd better make sure he's not going to give it to anyone as a gift._   No wait, that would make it even better.  Have the whole place decorated with some teeny bopper boy band so that whoever Tony gifted it to would think he had an unhealthy obsession.  Or they would think that Tony thought that they had the obsession.  

Darcy tipped her head down, pretending interest in the papers in her lap, but she was really hiding her smirk behind the curtain of her dark curls.  Busy with plotting Tony's imminent revenge (Peter would be easy, teenage boys were so easy to embarrass, it hardly took any effort), she missed the incoming attack until the building shook under her feet and she heard the faint sound of screaming.  

The building shook again, more violently this time, and Darcy jerked her head up to see the receptionists standing in front of the large glass windows, craning their heads upwards as they tried to follow the path of whatever it was that had hit the building.  She cursed whatever gene it was that made the people of New York City go **toward** the sound of destruction so they could watch the ensuing train wreck.  Like the whole city was filled with people from Cronenberg's _Crash_ and they had to watch the destructive melees or they would never get off again.

Instead of joining the crew at the window, Darcy strode over to the receptionist's counter.  It was low, wide, and made of a heavy dark wood that had been polished to a brilliant shine.  She braced her hands underneath one end, digging her heels into the lush carpet, and pushed.  

The edge of the table slammed onto the floor and stationary supplies flew everywhere with a large crash.  It pulled the three women's attention away from the window, where they stared at her with wide eyes and gaping mouths.

"What are you doing?!" One of them demanded finally, taking a step away from the window and toward Darcy, who was pulling cushions off the couches and chairs and throwing them to the floor.

"I'm building a fort that will hopefully protect us if those dumbasses out there send the building toppling on our heads."  Once she was finished stripping the furniture, she grabbed hold of the large desk and started to pull it over to the nearest couch.  "What-" with a loud grunt, she slid the desk the final few inches- "are *you*-" A huff of effort as she lifted the matching wooden coffee table and propped it on the desk and the now bare couch so that it provided some cover for falling debris.  "doing?"

From the startled looks on their faces, she guessed that they hadn't thought this building would actually be hit.  "Look, I don't know who's fighting out there, but it feels like they've got some pretty heavy firepower.  If we get hit, I would like to not be crushed under..." She shook her head and waved her hand in a circle.   "Whatever is on the floor above me."

"A pet chiropractor," one of the other women said.

Darcy paused.  "Okay, well I would like to not be crushed under a labradoodle whose health insurance is better than mine."  (Was better than hers, anyway.)  "Is there another one of these coffee tables laying around somewhere?"

"Um, yeah, there's one in the bathroom, I think."

The bathroom which was larger than her old apartment and had a small waiting room.  "Nursing area for the realtors," the woman who had led her there answered her unspoken question.  The table was much easier to move with two people, and once it was in place the small fort was large enough to shelter the four of them.  Darcy ushered the other women underneath the makeshift fort where they all huddled in silence as the building shook.

Once the last of the shocks had subsided, Darcy leaned out to look around the couch.

"I saw the Green Goblin go by," one of the women offered.

The knowledge eased Darcy's anxiety somewhat.  Peter always complained about the guy's pumpkin bombs, but she never recalled any extensive property damage whenever he came on the scene.  "All right.  So let's sit tight until- until Spider-man gets him under control."

The one who'd confronted Darcy at first (Bob, Darcy was going to call her, with her shiny black hair cut in a short bob) made a dismissive scoff in the back of her throat.  "Spider-man's just as bad as the rest of them."  The other two (Red for her bright red blouse and Peaches for the hell of it) looked away when Darcy glanced at them, but they didn't argue.

"He's a good guy," Darcy replied, careful to keep her tone level.  She watched Bob's brows draw together and the other woman drew in a deep breath, opening her mouth to interject.  "That's what I think, and if you disagree you can shove it up your ass because I don't give a rats ass about your opinion."  

It wasn't enough to prevent the other woman's tirade, but Darcy was serious when she said she didn't care.  She tuned out the rant; it was all straight from the Bugle anyway, there was nothing new.  She peeked around the edge of the table, scanning the large windows for signs of flying green Halloween costumes.  

A thick metal tentacle-arm rushed towards the window.  Darcy ducked behind the improvised cover to avoid the spray of shattered safety glass, wincing at the ear-piercing screams from the other women.  (She might have screamed.  Just a little.)  Metal groaned, carpet ripped, and concrete crumbled as the fingers at the end of the tentacle-arm dug into the building to anchor its owner.  Through the brand new opening, Darcy heard a familiar voice coming closer.

"I gotta say, Doc, I'm beginning to think that robbing banks is the supervillain equivalent of pulling a girl's pigtails in recess."  Spider-man landed on what was left of the window with a 'THONK,' clinging to it with the fingertips of one hand and the balls of his feet.  "That's got to be the reason why you keep trying even though you always fail so spectacularly."

(Jane and Darcy had once spent a tipsy evening throwing out reasons for Spider-man's ability to adhere to surfaces.  Darcy was fond of the gecko theory--little tiny suckers!-- while Jane posited that it had something to do with electrostatic forces or some science-y mumbo jumbo.) 

Spider-man swung through the broken window past the tentacle-arm into the newly redesigned lobby.  He braced himself and set his shoulder into the anchored metal arm, shoving at it with all of his considerable strength.  The fingers anchored in the concrete skidded forward an inch, then two, then screeched to a halt.  The young hero muttered a string of curses (that to be fair, he had probably picked up from Wade) and Darcy realized that as inappropriate as it was, this was the perfect time to pay him back for the whole tea thing.

"Ooooh..."  She peeked her head around the side of their cover, raising her eyebrows in false dismay.  "Cap's gonna wash your mouth out with soap, Spidey!"

Spider-man whirled around and cringed against the side of the large metal arm, one hand pressed to his chest in alarm as it fell in rapid pants.  "Darcy!"  He shrieked when he caught sight of her impish grin.  "What-what are you doing here?  Is Wade here somewhere?"  The teenager's voice dropped dramatically in volume and he leaned towards her, almost whispering; "Is.... Is Bucky here?"  (She shouldn't find it adorable how terrified Peter was of Bucky, or of how poorly he hid it.)

"I am allowed out on my own, you know," she smirked.  "Is it just you out there?"

"Just me?"  Spider-man's voice rose high with indignation before he realized how close to a harpy's screech it was.  He cleared his throat and tried again.  "Of course it's just me.  I don't need anyone else to help me with Doc Oc."  As if remembering his mission, he turned back to the metal arm and shoved his shoulder into it again, resuming his attempts to shove it out the window.

Darcy glanced back at the women taking shelter, who were staring at her with open-mouthed shock.  All of them except for Bob, who was glaring at her, arms crossed over her chest.  Darcy ignored her and focused on Peaches.  "You said you saw the Green Goblin?"  The woman nodded hesitantly.  Darcy turned her attention back to Spider-man, who had succeeded in moving the anchored arm another five inches.  "Yo, Spidey, what about the Green Goblin?"

His head whipped around, the large white plates over his eyes aimed at her.  "The Green Goblin is out here, too?"

"Look out!"

Before she could answer, one of the women grabbed the back of Darcy's blouse and jerked her backwards, drawing her back into the cover of the heavy wooden table just as an explosion shook the room.  Dust fell from the ceiling and curled along the floors.  Darcy looked up over her shoulder to see Bob's scowling face.  "Of course you're friends with Spider-man," the other woman grumbled, glaring at Darcy as if daring her to thank the woman for saving Darcy's life.  

Darcy blinked for a moment, then grinned.  "Hater's gonna hate," She sang, brushing fallen dust off her fancy business clothes.  "You ladies okay?"  Peaches and Red nodded, while Bob huffed an impatient breath and shoved Darcy off of her.  "After this is done, we're going to have to have a lesson on urban survival during super-villain attacks.  Frankly, I'm astonished this kind of thing isn't taught to more people."

"Where'd you learn?"  Red asked, the dust from the destroyed building turning her vibrant red blouse into a dingy pink.  

"I've been handling this kind of thing before it was cool," Darcy said breezily, waving her hand in a dismissive motion.

"Darcy, you sound like a hipster!"  Spider-man shouted, triggering surprised giggles from the other women.

She popped her head past the cover again to find that he had successfully moved the anchoring arm a couple of feet this time, leaving it mere inches from the steep drop created by the broken window.  "You haven't moved that yet?  Want me to call in some help?"

Spider-man groaned in frustration, pausing in his efforts long enough to beat his head lightly (she hoped) on the arm.  "I don't need any help," he groused, resuming his efforts.  The anchoring 'fingers' clenched, latching hold of some part of the building structure so that it resisted even Spider-man's impressive strength.  "I've. Got. This."  With each word, he pulled at the arm, jerking the latched fingers looser and looser with each attempt.  The arm broke free and slithered out the broken window.  Spider-man turned and flicked a two-fingered salute at Darcy.  "Told ya!" He crowed before leaping out the window and swinging away after his nemeses.  

The lobby was quiet except for the whistling of the wind past the broken window.  Bob scooted closer to Darcy, pulling her pencil skirt over her knees and brushing the dust off her clothes.  "You mentioned urban survival tactics?"

+1 The one where Darcy is rescued.

She had to give it to Angel Dust, Darcy mused, tugging at her zip-tied wrists.  The woman did something that few supervillains ever bothered to do, in Darcy's experience.  She learned from her mistakes.

Instead of being left alone in a room with a (to be honest) completely shoddy attempt at a transformation into a holding cell (seriously, so shoddy), she was sitting in a chair in the middle of an empty room, her wrists zip-tied together behind her back and her ankles tied to the legs of the chair.  Two armed guards sat in the room with her, holding idle conversation about their weekend plans while they kept automatic assault rifles pointed in her general direction.  She definitely wasn't going to be able to sneak her way out, so maybe she could pull off a Lima Syndrome effect and get them to let her go.

One of them mentioned a blind date in a restaurant with an over-inflated reputation and Darcy hissed in a breath between her teeth.  "Oooh," she groaned, shaking her head when the goons looked at her.  "Don't eat there.  I hear it's way too pricy, and the food is weird.  Apparently all their fish dishes come smothered in cheese.  That's like a Cooking 101 no-no."

"Shut up," one of the goons growled, but the other one, the one with the upcoming blind date, shushed his fellow goon and stepped closer to Darcy.  

"Where would you suggest going?  What?"  He protested at his companion's incredulous objection.  "I like him and it's not like you have any good ideas.  Your idea of a nice meal is getting fast food 'for here.'"  The goon turned back to Darcy, jerking the barrel of his gun in a 'come on' motion.

Darcy shrugged.  "What is he into?"

Blind Date Goon pulled his chair closer to Darcy, swinging it around as he sat so that he was sitting in it backwards, his arms crossed over the back.  "So he likes crime novels, real life unsolved mysteries, and police procedurals."

She blinked, then leaned back in her chair, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully.  "What does he do for a living?"

"He says he's in civil service."

"Ooooh, bad news, bud."  Darcy shook her head ruefully.  "He's a cop.  Probably a detective, if not applying to be one."  The goon slumped in his chair and she tried to pat his shoulder but failed thanks to the zip-ties holding her back.  "Sorry."

The other goon growled impatiently, rolling his eyes with clear disdain for his companion.  "Enough with the whole 'Dear Abby' thing.  We're getting too much money for you to go soft just because she tells you the same damn thing I told you three days ago."

 _Shit,_ Darcy groaned to herself as Blind Date Goon pulled away, returning to the sentinel position he'd held earlier, though he was muttering under his breath about the blind date that failed before it began and why didn't he see the signs.   _So much for the Lima Syndrome._

Blind Date Goon was mentally rechristened as Internet Dating Goon as he started to talk about other potential matches.  (Apparently there was a dating site devoted to henchmen hooking up.  Who knew?)  Darcy tuned him out; closing her eyes and letting her head fall back on her shoulders as she let out a heavy sigh.  

When she opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling, she caught the dim outline of a body in the rafters.  It crept along the steel beams toward the back of the room, behind the two goons who were currently discussing their fantasy football teams.

"I always vote for the team named after an animal," Darcy interjected loudly, doing her best to draw their attention to her.  It worked as they both focused incredulous glares on her.  The ski-masks did nothing to hide their disdain.  "I bet my win record is higher than yours."

They both stepped closer, Internet Dating Goon shaking his head.  "What do you do when it's two animals?"

Darcy shrugged.  "Pick the predator over prey," she said nonchalantly, "and if it's two predators, then I pick whichever one would win in a fight."

The other goon frowned.  "How do you know which one would win in a fight?  Bengals versus Lions or Eagles versus Raptors, who would win?"

She shrugged, feigning indifference as a shadowy profile dropped to the ground behind her sufficiently distracted guards.  "Then I go with whichever animal is cooler.  Bengals and Raptors, obvies."

"No way!"  Internet Dating Goon protested.  "Eagles are so much cooler than Raptors!"  His follow-up reasoning was cut off by a knife in the back of his neck while simultaneously a small red hole appeared in the center of the other goon's forehead, followed by a red spray of biological matter out of the back of his head.

(It wasn't the first time someone had been killed in front of her, but she still had to swallow a little bit of bile whenever it happened.)

"All right," she told her rescuers.  "The sub-dermal tracker was a good idea."

"Told you," Bucky's growling voice rumbled in her ear as the pressure around her wrists disappeared.  

That voice did  _things_ that had no business going on in this particular situation.  Darcy pushed away the shiver that wanted to run down her spine as she rubbed her wrists.  She smiled down at Wade while he cut her ankles free.  "Thanks, they were getting boring."  She wasn't going to admit that a tiny bit of her had been uncertain that they would even bother to come after her.  Or that they wouldn't be in time.  Darcy put her hand in Wade's gloved one, letting him pull her to her feet.  She stepped past the fallen bodies of the goons and breathed out a long, slow sigh of relief.

(Oh poor 23Ifallpuzzles, who would show up for a blind date with Dogslay85 and be sorely disappointed when his date ghosted.  He would never know his potential partner was lying on the cold floor of an empty warehouse in the middle of the shipping district.  The idle thought had Darcy wondering if other missed blind dates were for similar reasons.)

"Yeah," Darcy forced her morbid thoughts away from her former captors to smile at Wade and Bucky.  "I'm totally ready to get out of here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of my references to shirts/t-shirts/sweaters comes from the collection at lookhuman.com. Check it out, it's awesome.  
> Also, this isn't perfect and I'm okay with that. Hope you are too.


End file.
